


Strangers in the Night

by fadeverb



Series: Leo [12]
Category: In Nomine
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 04:04:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadeverb/pseuds/fadeverb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leo falls into the middle of an operation of the War. Literally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strangers in the Night

Waking up hurts less than I expect. Which is to say, against all expectation, I haven't hit Trauma again. I'd find this more satisfying if I could see Zhune. What I can see is two men in black clothing with automatic rifles pointed right at me.

"Ow," I say, and don't sit up, because I'd rather not be shot. The last thing I remember is hitting a metal beam on the way down from the ceiling, and the ceiling must be forty feet up. It doesn't feel like anything is broken, but neither am I in a big hurry to get up from this position on the floor to find out for sure. 

"She's awake," says the man on the left. He does not have a German or Russian accent, though he looks like he should; I haven't fallen into an action movie after all. I lie there wondering what I'm supposed to do about this now. It's one thing to botch a job, though the fall wasn't my fault. It's another to botch a job so badly I end up surrounded when I wake up, and I'm damn sure going through the roof made disturbance on the way down. Zhune will be so snide about this when he gets a chance, and I'm not going to have any good way to tell him to shut up, either.

Speak of the demon. Zhune steps into view, next to a man who I'd bet on being in charge of these folks. Tall, aristocratic sneer, that weasely sort of face that some Balseraphs think is elegant. My partner, on the other hand, is wearing the bland and sullen Djinnish expression he almost never uses. Bad sign. "Do I get introductions?" I ask.

Zhune offers me a hand up. "This is the Captain," he says, bland and slow. He must be furious. If they were angels we'd be toast, and if they were humans Zhune would have attuned to the man in charge and talked us out of this trouble, so at least one must be a demon, and not one of our friends. Worst is always the Game, but the War is a better bet. I'm not sure how much of an improvement that is. "He's upset about us crashing the party."

"Name and Band," says the captain, who doesn't seem inclined to give more information than that. Definitely the War. I don't recognize the vessel, but I recognize the type. "Be glad we're short-handed tonight, or you'd be shot and left for the enemy to deal with." 

I don't think Zhune would have let that go by. I flick a glance at my partner, and say, "Kate. Impudite. Sorry to drop in, and I'll be happy to get out of your way now."

"You spooked the delivery," says the captain, "so you can track down where it's moved to, before we miss the drop. They need to finish it tonight, and we need to intercept it tonight. It was going according to plan until you botched things. One would think that Theft would have a better sense of stealth."

"That's us," I say. "Stealthy." I don't like that he's so upfront about what he wants. It could be the War idiocy about honor, or it could be that they plan to shoot us at the end of this. I've been killed on the War's behalf twice already, and I'm not looking to make it three times. "So we're drafted? We'll head out and find out where they've gone--"

"I'm not stupid." Probably a Balseraph. He sneers the right way for a Balseraph of the War, though I'm not ruling out Djinn. "One of you will seek out the new location, while the other remains here. Once we've reacquired the cargo, both of you can--and should--leave the area. You have five minutes to discuss which of you is most capable of carrying out this mission." The captain waves dismissively, and stalks away, leaving the two men with rifles to watch over us.

I take a seat on a crate. Motel rooms and warehouses and other people's offices, that's what Theft comes down to. Why can't we ever get jobs robbing amusement parks or grocery stores? It would be a change of pace. "So," I say. "Flip for it?"

Zhune slouches against the wall nearby. His vessel is handsome and poised, but when he slouches and glowers he looks a proper Djinn. Surly and apathetic. "If you want," he says. He's watching those two men, and trying to decide if they're human. If it's worth attuning to one for future use. Too much chance that they're demons, or there's a Shedite in one, and he comes to the same conclusion after a moment. "Probably the other site we considered," he says, in a more normal voice. "It looked like backup in our research, and they're running against a deadline. Only so many places with enough room for the transfer, neutral ground for everyone involved, reasonably subtle. Either of us could check it out and report back in an hour or less."

"Check it out, be good kids and report back," I say. And we both know that good kids call the police when there's something nefarious going on in the neighborhood. It's been a few months since I sicced the mortal authorities on anyone, but that ploy never gets old. The men are watching us, but they don't look curious as to what we're saying. Still, best not to talk about anything too obvious.

Zhune's less fond of playing with mortal policemen at a remove. He's more of a hands-on guy. "Not much of a plan."

"But functional?"

"Maybe." Zhune nearly smiles, but catches himself and turns it into a yawn. You don't want the Djinn looking proactive. "And then?"

"If the War's running this..." I don't have to finish that sentence. If we don't deliver we don't get paid, but once the people with heavy weaponry and no compunctions about using them on us show up, generic payment isn't inspiring. If we can pull this off we will, but neither of us is ready to get killed on this job. It's not from someone important.

"Might as well ditch it."

"Too bad for us."

"Mm." Zhune turns to watch the men, and specifically the captain across the warehouse, hard to see in bad lighting. The Djinn's more willing to try risky stunts to pull this off than I am. We both get some pleasure out of screwing over people who are mess with us, but he'll push back sooner than I will. I'm only dangerous if cornered. He's dangerous for the thrill of it. "Then I'd better get to it. Don't get shot while I'm gone."

"I'll do my best. Don't do anything stupid while I'm not around to watch your back."

"Of course not." He flashes me a charming smile no one else can see. The bastard's going to set up a way for us to run off with the goods, and get us both shot in the process. Or just shot at. I don't need the War to make note of this vessel too. He slouches off to talk to the captain before I can think of a guarded way of telling him what I think of that plan.

An obscene gesture might've worked. That's how I feel about his plan.

In short order, Zhune's off looking for the new location and calling the police and I don't know what else, while I get to stand around in a warehouse with glowering War-types. There was a reason why I didn't leap at the offer to work for the War the first time around, and I'm not thrilled to be stuck here again.

I amuse myself by playing guess-the-Band with the people left in the place. Ten minutes in, I'm nearly certain there's a Shedite in the shorter and more German-looking of the two men; the margin of error says the man's your garden variety psychopath, which is more a Death or Fire thing than the War, but you can't always be picky about your Soldiers. My old boss picked some real winners to staff her office.

This reminds me that I miss having a Role and job and neighborhood, and who needs that sort of existential angst? I slide off the crate, and wander across the warehouse floor to see if there's anything more interesting to do.

The captain moves off on an intercept before I get far. "Essence," he says. "Since you have nothing better to do with it."

I put on my best Impudite smile."All out. Unless you want me to go looking for someone to siphon? Or drain one of your boys, though I think that'd be counterproductive."

He thinks I'm lying--of course he does, Balseraphs never believe anyone's telling the truth unless it's what they want to hear--but he has no way to check. "If you can't be useful, stay out of the way."

"So tell me where the way is, and I'll stay clear of it."

If he didn't need the information Zhune's bringing back, he'd shoot me right now. Which is why I'm bothering him; annoying people is twice as much fun when they want to kill you for it, and can't.

Come to think of it, maybe Zhune's not the only one with a bad habit of taking risks.

The captain's going more stone-faced by the second. "Stay here," he says, and points to where I'm standing. " _Right_ here." He stalks away, muttering into a walkie-talkie. I understand just enough of the jargon to know that there's more cursing in there than is strictly necessary for giving orders. Another man walks into the room, probably called in by the muttering, and--

Wow.

Regan cut his hair.

There's something to be said for shock. It should've occurred to me that I could run into her in an operation by the War. But it didn't, and I stand there blinking at Regan in his vessel that's as good-looking as Zhune's, wondering how they talked him into cutting his hair. Staring is better than freaking out and doing something stupid. I liked the female vessel with the scar over the eye better, but if there's one thing Regan's vessels always have, it's good hair.

Last time I heard from Regan, she was getting her head taken out by a sniper shot. Which makes two times I've gotten her killed by someone else, to two times she's gotten me killed by someone else. I figure we're even, but I doubt she sees it that way. Which is why I'm going to keep my mouth shut and play unknown Impudite long enough to make sure Regan doesn't connect me with a certain Calabite she knows ran off to Theft.

"You're on babysitting duty," says the captain, and points Regan at me. Poor little Balseraph, back to taking orders. I suppose there's no escaping it in the War, but I doubt they're letting her command minions until she works her way back out of disgrace. I'm a little surprised to see her back on the corporeal; maybe her boasting about having allies in Hell was true. I can't think much of any powerful demons who continue to support her when she's failed this often. Maybe they blame that on me too?

I hope not. I have enough known enemies without adding unknown ones to the list.

Regan gives me a long-suffering stare. "Yes, sir. Shoot her if she tries to disappear?"

"Yes," says the captain. "The other Thief can retrieve whatever's left." He leaves to discuss whatever it is he has to discuss with the Soldiers. Leaving me with a pissy Balseraph who's just looking for an excuse to shoot me.

Could be worse. She could know who I am. There's nothing like meeting up with an ex you killed recently for awkward conversations.

Regan waits until the captain's out of earshot before he starts the active sneering. "Why are a pack of losers like your kind messing with this business?" That's the erudite Balseraph I knew and loved. Liked. Lusted after. Whatever.

I roll my eyes, and glare back up at him, wishing this vessel weren't so short. "Theft. It's in the name. We steal things. If anything, I should be asking why the War is stepping on our territory. You weren't here to pick up the goods as a buyer, or you'd know where to go next."

"No one's said we're from the War."

"Because every Word walks around using military terminology, carrying heavy weaponry, and looking like half the mooks from a _Die Hard_ movie? Fire doesn't organize this way, Death would have shot both of us, the Game would have tried to arrest us--assuming they weren't pretending to be another Word at the time--and pretty soon you're running out of people who are interested in what's in the boxes. Besides, that's a military haircut. I'm supposed to believe a bunch of Servitors of Lust with identical soldier fetishes were in the neighborhood and decided to grab this shipment?"

Regan stares down at me. I don't like that look. It says he's thinking about who that sounds like, and I don't want him coming to unfortunate conclusions. I blink back up at him innocently, and add, "Is there a soda machine in here? I could use a drink."

"No," says Regan.

"You're sure?"

"Quite."

"Because I'll get you a drink too, if you want one. I'm no short on money. So long as it takes dollar bills. Quarters jingle too much."

"There is no fucking soda machine in the warehouse," says Regan.

"Really? Because I saw one on the way in."

Regan's eye twitches. It's sort of cute. At this rate, I may get shot, but not for being who I am. "Shut up," he says.

"Why? I mean, in case you haven't noticed, the people that could be spooked have already _been_ spooked and disappeared." I wonder if chasing them off was the best option after all. Trying to pull ofg a subtle heist in the middle of a raid from the War right while two nervous groups, one of which might or might not contain angels, tried to pass contraband around... Chaos. Not sure we'd get out with the loot and our skins intact. And it's more embarrassing to lose a vessel to getting shot on accident, as opposed to when someone's trying to take you out.

"I can still shoot you, you know," says Regan.

"Whatever." I stuff my hands in my pockets and wish my life didn't suck quite so much. "I'll buy you a Coke."

I give him about a one in three chance of shooting me when I walk away. For once, luck's on my side, and instead he follows along, trying to look like he's leading the way. Regan's as down on her luck as I guessed.

Outside, the night's freezing, and the loading dock is quiet. Whatever the rest of the Baalites are up to, they're being hush-hush about it. I feed dollar bills into the machine while Regan stands there looking disgruntled. "You're sure this isn't dissonant?" he asks, lofty sneer and all. "I'd think Theft wouldn't be allowed to give _gifts_. It's nothing I need, anyway," he adds quickly. Just in case I'm a Lilim. Regan has bad luck with Lilim. Personally, I find any demon that can be trusted to keep her promises, rather than retroactively editing her memory of having made them, to be a step in the right direction.

I hand Regan a Coke, and snap the top on my own once he's accepted it. "You're thinking Greed. We're Theft. There's no point in stealing money if you never do anything with it. We pay our motel bills, tip well, and give money to panhandlers. When people think you're great people, they don't notice the bigger crimes until it's too late."

"It's amazingly petty," says Regan. "Swipe a trinket and you think you're dragging the world into chaos. But order's more resistant than that."

"I don't require death to validate what I do." Soda's a poor substitute for beer, but Zhune and I have a solid deal going: I don't drink on the job, and he'll get me drinks after the bartenders cut me off.

Regan snorts. "Impudites."

"A war may be great for the smugglers and the profiteers, but people start locking their doors at night. I'm not big into the metaphorical theft. Peace of mind, innocence, tranquility. I'd rather have a comfortable fat country like this one where I can take what I want." I've heard the lines often enough that I can spout them myself when the situation calls for it. "Anyway, what's the point of arguing? Neither of us is going to budge any time soon. You have the snappy uniforms and rigid command structure, we have the spare cash and the fun, everyone's happy."

"Happy isn't the point," says Regan. "Fun isn't the point. That's all nonsense that they use to distract you from making something of yourself. If you want to reach a goal, you need structure, and teamwork, and rules."

"I'd rather be happy than successful." I toss my soda can into the garbage, still mostly full. It was just an excuse to get outside. If Zhune does have to pull off a last-minute rescue, it'll be easier out here. "Who wants a team? One person gets things done. Two people get things done. Three people, you're pushing it. Once you get past that, you spend as much time managing the group as you do accomplishing anything. You can have your teams. Give me one reliable partner at my back, and I can focus on the job."

"No such thing." Regan's not looking at me anymore. I could, if I were inclined to piss off three or four Servitors of the War in my vicinity, call up the right Song and disappear to meet up with Zhune. One of the nice things about having a Djinn partner is that he can always find me. It's also one of the disadvantages, but nothing's perfect. "You need a command structure. Control. A way to make sure everyone does what they're told. Otherwise it all falls apart."

"The people you work with must be less reliable than the ones I work with."

On that one, I'm expecting an argument, but Regan only looks sullen and works through his Coke. I don't think I've seen the Balseraph this depressed before. You'd think he could appreciate that his demotion didn't end with him scrubbing floors in Gehenna for the next century, or worse. "How long have you worked for Theft?"

"Long enough."

"You know the people who work for it, right?"

I don't like where this is going. "Have you ever been to Stygia? It's not designed for casual meet-and-greets with large numbers of people. I know a few people, sure, but it's not like I'm on a first-name basis with the whole Word." I get myself another drink, for something to do with my hands. Standing around Regan trying to not be myself makes me twitchy. "If you're going to ask about someone specific, it's pointless. Everyone in Theft keeps moving so we don't get caught, whether by mortal authorities or anyone in Hell. No home address."

Whatever Regan was going to say, he doesn't have a chance, because my phone rings. I put up a hand. "Let me grab this call."

Zhune sounds far too amused. "Exactly where we thought. I don't know how they didn't pick up on it. Want to pass on the news?"

"I can do that." I watch Regan watching me. "Anything come up?"

"The Bal had me followed. Thought I wouldn't notice. So I need you stay on the line for about two more minutes after I hang up. They're watching you take the call, right?"

"Of course."

"Good." He hangs up, and I do two more minutes of making vague noises of assent into the phone before I close it. Enough time for him to call the police on the location without any watcher noticing that he made two calls, not one.

I shove the phone back in my pocket. The display is starting to glitch; I figure I have three more days before I need to toss this one. "I got the details on the new location," I tell Regan, before he can start a new line of conversation. "You need to hurry if you want to get there before the deal's done."

It's not as if he can object. I pass the address to the captain, and then get to ride in their stupid black Hummer. Inconspicuous that is not, though at least they didn't pick one of the yellow ones. I spend the ride pretending I don't notice Regan trying to catch my eye, and slowly weakening assorted portions of the transmission. I may be petty, but I'm _good_ at it.

Zhune meets us a block away, Djinn-slouching in a shadow. "Your cargo's at the dock," he tells the captain. "If you don't mind, I'd rather leave before it gets noisy."

"We should hold them until we're sure," says Regan. Thanks.

"No," says the captain, and I get the feeling his response is as much because of who suggested it as what the suggestion was. "If they were lying... They won't get far before we find out." His stare is supposed to be intimidating, but Zhune doesn't intimidate for anyone less powerful than a Prince, and I'm more unnerved by the possibility of Regan working things out than at the chance of these idiots chasing us down. We're Theft. Escaping retribution is part of the job description. "Get out of here, and don't make any noise on the way."

"Sure thing." I peel away from the crowd, while they go to do their Warish thing. And then Zhune and I, we get the hell out of town before the police show up.

Zhune has a case in the back seat of the car. I'm having a minor nervous breakdown. Enough so that it gets through his self-satisfaction, though I'm trying to be quiet about it. "Something wrong?"

"No," I say. I'm a decent liar. Maybe not so much tonight. "So we got the job done, and we've pissed off the War a little more than usual. Great."

"If you're worried about them--"

"Not really." I go through the glove box of the car and reduce everything inside to component fragments. A whole lot of dust sifting down over my shoes. It makes me feel a little better. That and a pack of cigarettes will be enough to get me down to an even keel and prepared to drink myself unconscious later tonight. "Ran into my ex."

"Which one?"

"Which one? The one who works for the War, that's which one. The one who's tried to kill me a few times, and succeeded twice. I only have the one ex-girlfriend."

"So, not the Seraph."

"I have never dated a Seraph."

"Could've fooled me."

"Collaborating for a common goal is not the same as dating, Zhune."

He waves it off. "So, Regan. Did she figure out who you were?"

"Am I dead?"

"That would be a no, then. So no harm done."

I roll down the window to get some air into the car, no matter that it's starting to snow outside. "Right," I say. "Never mind. No harm done."


End file.
